


make the dream my reality (lead me to my heart)

by glowinghorizons



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-04-10 13:53:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4394414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glowinghorizons/pseuds/glowinghorizons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>bellarke + “why didn’t you tell me i was in love with you?!” </p>
<p>or</p>
<p>cop!bellamy and nurse!clarke have known each other for three years, purely due to bellamy's tendency to end up in the ER during his shift. one day, clarke is the one who needs help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	make the dream my reality (lead me to my heart)

**Author's Note:**

> modern!AU inspired by gene kelly’s line to judy garland in “for me and my gal” because i am a sucker for old movies (and for gene kelly) -- and i thought the line was way too cute to pass up.
> 
> disclaimer: i don't own "the 100" or any of the characters. i also don't own the song "head to my heart" by elenowen, which i used for the title.
> 
> this AU seems a little fast-paced for a oneshot, but i hope you like it anyway! please review if you read, it makes me so happy to see what you all think of my writing!

Bellamy is half listening to what Clarke is saying as she flits back and forth between the exam table he’s sitting on and a tray of supplies to her left. The cut on his abdomen hurts like a bitch, but it’s not life threatening, at least not anymore.

 

When Miller brought him into the hospital, he was a little concerned, especially judging from the shocked look on Clarke’s face when she first saw him, but she gave him something for the pain, and now all he really wants to do is collapse into his bed and sleep for the next five years.

 

“… need to be more careful, Bellamy,” she’s saying, applying some antibiotic ointment to the wound, then pressing a strip of gauze there, her touch tentative, but sure.

 

“I’m always careful,” he retorts, wincing when she presses a little too hard on one side.

 

“Clearly,” she says dryly. “Don’t make me ask Miller to tattle on you when you step out of line.”

 

“Like he would,” Bellamy snaps. “Honestly, I’m fine. It’s just a scratch.”

 

“A scratch that needed ten stitches,” she mumbles, turning away from him to take her gloves off and wash her hands.

 

“Long day today?” He asks, purely because he can’t think of anything else to say, and he’s pretty sure he’s going to have to sit here until she gives him some replacement gauze and bandages.

 

“The longest. This is hour fourteen.” She says, grabbing some extra bandages and gauze out of the cabinet above the sink. He tries not to let his eyes linger on the way the top of her scrubs rides up slightly as she stretches to reach the top shelf.

 

Clarke and Bellamy are not really friends. Acquaintances, sure. Their paths cross a lot, with him being a cop and her working in the ER at the local hospital for the last three years, but they don’t really know each other outside of work. He sees her sometimes, at the bar where his sister bartends, usually sitting in the corner booth with her friends, but other than a wave and a smile, they typically don’t spend any time together.

 

Their “friendship” is limited solely to the times when Bellamy ends up getting treated for something: stitches or cuts or when he’s bringing in his partner, Miller, for the same problems. That’s why he can’t understand why _now_ his eyes seem to follow her around the room as she moves, why he finds himself fighting off a grin at the way she glares at him when he makes a smartass comment, and why he can’t understand the need to prolong this visit. He _hates_ hospitals. He would rather never be in one again, if he can help it. So this? This makes no sense.

 

“You should get some sleep,” he says belatedly after realizing he’s been staring at her for the last thirty seconds.

 

“Oh sure, I’ll just tell the shift leader that I’m out of here,” she says sarcastically, and he snorts.

 

“Anyone ever tell you you’re a hard ass, Griffin?”

 

“I only ever get the pleasure of hearing it from you, Officer Blake,” she volleys back, and he feels like the balance of the universe has been restored now that they’re back to their usual banter. “Change your bandages once a day. Put more ointment on it when it starts to itch – that means it’s healing. If it gets hot to the touch or inflamed, you need to come back here.”

 

“Aye aye, princess,” he says, and she groans.

 

“That was terrible, and you’re mixing your metaphors.”

 

“I’m injured. Give me a break.”

 

.

.

 

Two days later, and Bellamy is back in the ER, though this time it’s for a nasty case of the flu that has hit him hard out of nowhere. He’s barely lucid, feeling like his head weighs about two hundred pounds, and Miller is there, right over his shoulder like always, scowling.

 

“Tell him he has to take time off work,” Miller says to Clarke, who is looking at Bellamy with something like exasperation. He’s too far gone to read her facial expressions.

 

“I’ll write him a note. He needs to go home for at least the rest of the week, after we get some fluids into him.”

 

“He’s not sick from an infection, is he?” Miller asks, gesturing towards Bellamy’s stomach, where his wound is still healing, but Clarke shakes her head before he even finishes his sentence.

 

“No, no. It’s the flu. We’ve been seeing a lot of it over the last week.”

 

“This is why I hate hospitals,” Bellamy nearly whines. “I came in here two days ago and I’m already sick.”

 

“It doesn’t help that you’ve been running yourself ragged.”

 

Bellamy glares at Miller, “Whose side are you on?”

 

Clarke rolls her eyes, “After you’re hydrated, you need to go home, take some NyQuil, and _sleep_. I mean it, I don’t want to hear that you’re going back to work in two days. You need at least three, if not four days off.”

 

Bellamy looks at her for a minute, and that feeling is back again, the one where he can’t seem to stop watching her, or noticing little things like the birthmark above her upper lip, or the little pearl earrings she’s wearing, or—

 

“Oh- _kay_ ,” Miller says loudly, breaking up the moment, “Time to get some sleep.”

 

“I’m not—“

 

“If you’re making moony eyes at Clarke, then it’s clear you’re not in your right mind.” He says bluntly, and Bellamy watches, fascinated, as Clarke blushes.

 

“I wasn’t—“ He protests, but Clarke cuts him off.

 

“Stop talking. Go to sleep. Someone will wake you up when you can go home.”

 

“But I’m _fine_!”

 

This time neither Clarke nor Miller answer him, and before he knows it, he feels like his eyelids are being weighed down, and the next time he wakes up, he’s at home in his apartment, wondering if he dreamt the entire thing.

 

.

.

 

Bellamy has a lot of time to himself over the next few days. He can’t deny that he’s sick anymore. He hasn’t had the flu in _years_ and he’s sure that he got it from the hospital, but he can’t do anything but sit around feeling like complete and total shit, so he uses his time wisely, taking turns sleeping and binge watching shows on Netflix.

 

He tries to convince his sister to bring him some case files from the station, but she refuses, threatening to call Miller. “You can leave your files alone for a few days,” she chides.

 

He mumbles something about being bored out of his skull, but by then she’s already hung up on him. “Rude,” he mutters, before tossing his phone on his bed to be buried in the duvet.

 

On the last day of his forced medical leave, Miller calls. “Bellamy…” he says, and something about the tone of his voice makes Bellamy sit upright in bed. “Are you well enough to drive?”

 

“I’m a lot better than I’ve been… why?”

 

“You better get down to the hospital.”

 

His mind starts whirring, thinking about what could be so important that Miller is calling him when he’s not even on shift, and his heart starts pounding. “Octavia?” He croaks.

 

“No, no. Not Octavia. Bellamy, it’s… it’s Clarke.”

 

.

.

 

Bellamy doesn’t remember the drive to the hospital. He probably breaks a hundred laws to get there, and his panic only gets worse when he gets to the ER and sees three squad cars there, lights flashing.

 

He leaves his car parked haphazardly in the drop-off area and flashes his badge at two nurses who try to stop him from getting inside. It looks like a crime scene, and the sight of it makes him feel nauseous.

 

“Bellamy,” Miller’s voice comes from his left, and he takes three large strides towards his partner.

 

“What happened?”

 

“I brought in a perp, and I don’t know, one minute it was fine, Clarke was in there with him, and—“

 

“What _happened_.”

 

Miller sighs, “The guy had a knife. He was too fast for me, I didn’t even see him—“

 

Bellamy’s mind shuts off after hearing that Clarke has been _stabbed_ and he doesn’t even know if she’s _alive_ —“Where…?”

 

“She’s in surgery.” Miller looks distraught, as if he feels personally responsible, and Bellamy realizes with a jolt that he probably _does_.

 

“It’s not your fault,” he says gruffly, but Miller shakes his head.

 

“I should have found it, I should have gotten in there faster, or she—“

 

“Clarke’s strong. She’ll be okay.”

 

Bellamy doesn’t know if he’s trying to convince Miller, or himself.

 

.

 

.

 

“If you don’t stop pacing, I’m going to shoot you,” Miller deadpans, his eyes still shut as he leans against the wall, cramped into an uncomfortable chair in the waiting room.

 

“It’s been hours. Why haven’t we heard anything?”

 

“We’re not related to her, they probably want to notify her family first.”

 

“ _We_ can notify her family. We’re the police, not some bunch of random guys.” Bellamy runs a hand through his hair, frustrated, just wanting someone, _anyone_ to update him on Clarke’s condition.

 

On cue, a doctor comes out of the operating room, looking exhausted and frazzled, making her way slowly to Bellamy and Miller.

 

“Officers. I understand you’re here about Clarke—“ She swallows, and Bellamy knows he isn’t imagining how her voice hitches on the name, “Clarke Griffin.”

 

“Yes,” Bellamy starts, hesitating, “Is she…?”

 

“She made it through surgery. I think she’ll be alright, it’s just a matter of making sure she makes it through the night.”

 

Bellamy is half relieved, half terrified at the news. He doesn’t know why it’s hitting him so hard, although the knowing looks that Miller keeps sending in his direction should have clued him in. “Can we see her?”

 

The doctor looks surprised at the request, and Miller jumps in, adding, “We come in here a lot on duty and she always patches us up. I’m the one who was here when she… when it happened.”

 

The woman’s face softens, and she nods. “She’ll be in recovery in a few minutes. They’re moving her upstairs now. 13B.”

 

“Thank you,” Bellamy says quietly, ignoring the looks both the Doctor and Miller are giving him as he makes his way to the elevator.

 

.

.

 

When he gets to Clarke’s room, he has to catch himself on the doorframe as he gets a glimpse of her. In all the time he’s known her, _fierce_ has always been a word he’s associated with her, and now she just looks so _small_.

 

There are all sorts of tubes attached to her arms, she’s pale, and he shudders when he thinks about all the blood she must have lost. He makes his way into the room quietly, trying desperately not to wake her, and he’s surprised how shaky on his feet he is.

 

This is not the way he should be feeling for a girl he doesn’t see outside of a hospital. Miller is hovering in the background, almost like he wants to give Bellamy _time alone_ with her, and suddenly Bellamy just _gets it_.

 

“Princess,” he breathes, taking a seat in the chair next to her bed, “You really scared us.”

 

He would give anything for her to open her eyes, to glare at him and insult him, and if that doesn’t tell him what a goner he is, he doesn’t know what will. If Miller notices, he doesn’t say anything, and for that Bellamy is grateful. He’s barely able to come to terms with what he’s feeling, let alone explain it to someone else.

 

“Bellamy?” He hears her croak, and his gaze snaps to hers.

 

“I’m here,” he says, pulling his chair closer to the bed.

 

“What… what happened?”

 

Bellamy glances at Miller, who nods. “Clarke… you were stabbed in the ER.”

 

It’s quiet for a minute before Clarke lets out a tiny “ _oh_ ” that makes his heart clench. He still can’t believe he hasn’t seen it before – the way that every little thing Clarke does draws his attention, the way he teases her in hopes that she’ll fire back insults at him, the way that his heart pounds a little harder when she smiles – he’s probably half in love with her if he isn’t all the way, and that makes this day all the more surreal.

 

“I need to go fill out some paperwork about this,” Miller says, interrupting the way Bellamy and Clarke are looking at each other. “I’m glad you’re okay, Clarke.”

 

“Thanks, Nathan.” She replies softly, smiling at him as he leaves. “You’re supposed to be at home,” she chastises Bellamy, and he shakes his head.

 

“Not getting rid of me that easily, Princess. It’s time for someone to take care of _you_ for a change.”

He doesn’t imagine the way she sounds breathless as she asks, “Oh? And that’s going to be you?”

 

“If you’re lucky,” he teases, his voice low.

 

“Why me?”

 

His face drops, “Clarke—“

 

“I’ve only ever been a pain in your ass. Someone who tells you what to do.”

 

Bellamy just takes a moment to look at her, really _look_ at her, and that warm feeling he’s been feeling in the pit of his stomach blossoms until he can hardly stand it anymore. He must have a strange look on his face, because there’s a line of worry creasing her brow, and she tilts her head as she gazes back at him.

 

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

 

He grins at her, can feel it growing across his face slowly but surely. “Princess, why didn’t you tell me I was in love with you?”

 

Her face is almost comical. He jaw literally drops, and her eyes grow wide, but Bellamy thinks she looks lovelier than he can ever remember seeing her. Her face is flushed and Bellamy can’t help but chuckle.

 

“You’re… you’re…” she stammers, looking anywhere but at him.

 

“I’m pretty crazy about you, Clarke,” he says softly, “And I’m really glad you’re okay.”

 

Her entire face softens, and she reaches out to grab his hand. “Bellamy… will you pick me up when I get discharged? I could really go for some Chinese food.”

 

The smile that brightens up Bellamy’s face is etched on his face for the rest of the night, and he doesn’t even care when Miller makes fun of him for the next three weeks, even after his first _and second_ dates with Clarke.

**Author's Note:**

> come cry with me on [tumblr](http://dreamingundone.tumblr.com)


End file.
